It was 1:30am. I hadn’t slept a full night in over a week and both my body and brain were exhausted. Despite my current condition, I had no reason to be anything but ecstatic. I had just spent ten days traveling a country with people I hope to know for the rest of my life. Think about that. Who can say that after meeting thirty eight random people, in JFK airport, a week and a half prior, they honestly want to keep in contact with all of them for the rest of their lives? Me. Of course, asides from facebook, I won’t speak to most of them again… but that’s okay, because we’ll always be close. See, we ate falafals together, hiked mountains holding hands (well I held Dalia’s hand… she was crazy clumsy) and slept in a tent in the desert. And when you share moments that are as intense as those, they’ll be with you forever. But after all of this, here I was, in Tel Aviv, Israel, standing on a coach bus back to Ben Gurion airport, thinking, “I’m not ready for this to end.”

Thirty eight people are going to bring thirty eight completely different personalities… thankfully all of them were great. I met an awesome lawyer who works for the Minnesota Vikings, a gangster chick from Harlem who knows more about music than me and a couple that might have the best energy I’ve ever felt from two people. Then add thirty four other equally intriguing people and you’ll begin to see why I’d never want to leave. And normally, I’d attribute my never wanting to leave to FOMO, the fear of missing out, but in this circumstance almost all of the people I were with were flying home. So why the strong urge to stay? Why’d it take so long for me to stick my stuffed suitcase under the bus? Maybe the four letters that kept me in Israel weren’t FOMO, but, just maybe, the name of a girl. Well it’s actually one of those names could be used as a guy’s name as well (not really, it’s just foreign)…. which is semi-gay, but whatever, she’s a girl and has great boobs.

Despite her name’s bisexuality, I stayed for a girl. There, it’s out. I said it openly and out loud and it feels fantastic. Though, before I go into lovey dovey talk, I want to reiterate how amazing Birthright was, with or without meeting a girl. But since I did meet a girl, it’s important to note that Israel was a hill compared to the mountain that was my little romance. Think The Notebook meets How Stella Got Her Groove Back meets Billy Madison.

I don’t rush into things nor do I get emotionally attached quickly, but I do believe in connections. Their are certain people, guys or girls, which will naturally connect to one another. It could be brought forth by a similar sense of self, a respect for the same musicians or an equal view on world politics; whatever its cause, there’s a connection you can only make with a limited number of people in your life. Knowing that strong connections are far and few between, I try to do whatever I can to aid a possible strong ’ship’ (relationship or friendship) with someone. In regards to connection strength, the girl I stayed for was a body builder. Our connection was Arnold Schwarzenegger strong (old school Arnold, not the flabby governator Arnold). How’d I know? Because we spoke for less than an hour during a ten day period and I was in a car heading away from the airport and back to the hotel. Yeah, shit just turned into a movie… tell me about it. The major difference between my story and a movie… when a guy does it in a movie, he’s calm, collective and speeds back to the girl while some awesome love song is playing. In reality, my palms were sweating like a fat kid at summer camp and the only song playing was a Hebrew rap song about Nike Shox (Hebrew rap sounds like someone coughing and rhyming at the same time). I almost threw up several times and when I finally did get back to the hotel, I had to splash water on my face so I wouldn’t faint. Then I marched up the stairs just like the guy in the movies would do. I walked to her door, put gum in my mouth and knocked… no answer. Um, I knocked again… no answer. Turns out she’s quite the deep sleeper, wasn’t answering the door, and I’m standing there freaking out even more now. What did I do? What anyone who just missed his only flight back to America would do; I broke into another hotel room and laid in the bed for six hours crying, laughing, having a panic attack, crying and then I reorganized my suitcase. Truly a wonderful night.

Now from here it gets interesting, amazingly interesting, but I’m also less inclined to speak about it. See, I’ve physically lived this story and have relived it mentally a hundred-ish times since. So it’s probably better to keep it to myself (actual most of this blog has been sitting in my unpublished section for a couple weeks, as I wasn’t sure how to write the ending). But, maintaining a blog is therapeutic, as it helps me analyze and organize my life. So I’ll leak out a little of that love potion… but only because I want you to have a chance to eat some romance pie (it taste so good).

It was the morning after my dramatic flee from the airport and my panic attacks continued to ensue in thirty minute waves. The plus side, things were a tad bit better knowing a handsome lady was hugging me and saying things like, “oh you” while bating her eye lashes like a little butterfly. What did I say? Just like How Stella Got Her Groove Back, right? We spent that first day in a blissful state of, “Oh My God I Can’t Believe This Is Happening” and for me, “Wow, How The Hell Am I Going To Get Back To America?” We enjoyed the moment to the fullest and didn’t bother to talk about why I was there and why she wanted me there… like I said, when you connect, you just know. When the day was up she left to another part of the country and I traveled around Israel for six days with some other (equally awesome) people. It’s what needed to happen. Wait! You’re wondering, did I miss my flight for just one day on a beach and tuna sandwich at a hip Israeli cafe? Of course not… I counted on fate to figure something out.

During my traveling we continued to send each other romantic facebook messages about blooming flowers, baby birds and the promise of seeing each other again. It was cute in a socially connected sort of way, and it gave me something to do when we stopped for gas and shawarma. But mostly, it was a great medium for us to figure out what it was we planned to do on the other side of the world. And when we finally did figure it out, it was nothing but fireworks and fairies. Well, not really, but it did feel great… like metaphorical fireworks and fairies. And after spending two days in a beach front condo in Ashqelon, we headed to the airport together, for seven days in Barcelona, Spain. From here you can imagine the best time in your life and multiple it by sixty. I’m completely serious, envision the best experience of your entire life and multiple it by another country, a Hollywood love story, a beyond beautiful girl (and average guy) and some cheap wine we bought in the Gothic District… it was everything you could ever dream life has to offer… multiplied by sixty.

Those of you who are my facebook friends have already seen the pictures from Spain, and those of you who aren’t, can use your imagination. The whole point of this is to remind everyone (via a slightly wild personal comedy blog) to live in the moment and always learn from the past. Leaving a plane full of friends for a girl I hardly knew, just because I had a gut feeling that there was something there, was terrifying. But I made memories that will be with me for the rest of my life. I’ll be eighty five drinking an Ensure in the park reminiscing about the time I ran out of an airport yelling, “Oh My God I Want To Kiss This Girl So Bad.” I’ll always remember running through cobblestone streets to see a Spanish guitar concert and cooking eggplant in a hostel and getting lost as we biked around the city and seeing her face when she thought I left her on the airplane and throwing my mouth guard at her (don’t ask) and how much my back hurt every morning, because we shared the same thirty inch bed, as splitting up wasn’t an option. But mostly, I’ll be forever thankful that I was able to see what the path less traveled had to offer. It wasn’t an easy path to cross and on the way a couple branches poked me in the eye, but the view at the end was worth every step in uncharted territory. As for now, lady and I have gone down separate paths, but the memories are still there, shamelessly flirting, drinking wine, and falling for one another as they lay in a park on a brilliant spring afternoon.

Update: A couple hours after I posted this I had an email asking, what happened after Spain? My response to them and most probably to myself… “the story we shared was penned by fate, and though some of the chapters might not be the easiest read, I continue reading, because that’s the only way to learn. And maybe, just maybe, one day the story ends as good as it began. But no matter where the story takes me… if I ever decide to go to Neverland, she’ll always be the happy thought that makes me fly.”

Second update: I need to admit that I never actually watched How Stella Got Her Groove Back. I just really like the title. It’s very urban-sexy.

Still a gangster with a lower case g,

Danny

Valentine’s Day is here and you’re single, buying yourself fatty chocolates and speed dating Swedish men over Skype. Why? You’re ambitious, witty and well-educated. Bikram yoga has your tummy tighter than Chloe in Kim’s clothes (is it okay to go there?), you can fillet a fish, open bottle of wine and know how to look damn good in a pair of heels. You’re going places. Well, currently you’re going back to that corner bodega to buy more of that almond filled Spanish chocolate, because it’s the only one that says, “Extra Large.” You don’t need a guy. And besides, if you wanted a sexy, successful man to take you out tonight, there’d be plenty. Probably 100. Well, maybe 3 or 4, but still, there’d be guys around. It’s just… they’re not the ‘right guy’, which is totally fine. Just because they aren’t the “big picture”, doesn’t mean they won’t do great as small portraits, stuck to the bottom of your purse, waiting for that night you’re a little tipsy, looking for lipstick in the base of your bag, when… “Oh, I haven’t seen him in a while.” Might as well get two bars of chocolate.

See, getting guy induced goosebumps and wanting butterfly kisses while watching The Princess Diaries is inherent to who we are. Even an alien, incapable of human emotion, watches The Notebook and thinks, “well if you’re a bird, then I’m a bird.” We no longer marry and raised youngin’ because we need children to milk the cows and tend the wheat. We marry for love and have children because we want someone to drive us nuts and draw on things that are important to us. Yes, there are zealous gold diggers who hunt for easily aroused execs and cougars who pounce on preteens still serving tables in Time Square, but they are not the norm. You, in you’re one room studio or three bedroom roommate share, with your new, but not so new career, you’re dark hair, because dying it blond had become ’sooo LA’, and the, damn it I’m sort of getting tired of being a bridesmaid, attitude… you are the norm. You’re thinking, feeling and reflecting on the same thing the foreign girl in 2B is. You might want it later, or with a different type of person, or in an unconventional setting, in a uncommon place; but what’s at the core, is the same seeds of love. WAIT. Then why’s she out tonight with an cute American boy, half way to getting her green card, and you’re trekking up the stairs with three bars of Extra Large chocolate (whatever, you wanted three bars of chocolate, it’s fine. I’m not judging) and Sex in the City in your DVD player?

You make mistakes. I could write a lengthy, considerably unpopular book on all the mistakes we make, but this isn’t a book and I’m trying to get you informed before you push play on the DVD and melt into the couch. The first one, you live in the city. Anyone here is undoubtedly the best or wants to be the best in whatever it is they do. They came here because wherever they were prior wasn’t going to give them all that they needed. You’re career oriented and will probably get married a lot later then your friends back home, but that’s fine, because packing lunches in the suburbs is not where you want to be right now. Number one is not you fault; blame it on your always wonderful drive to be great. Down the line it’s going to make you even more desirable… just don’t make down the line 38 and wrinkled.

Number two, stop trying to plan things. Love will not have pieces that fit like a puzzle, love is the puzzle and when it’s ready, it will build itself. Yes you can, and should, contemplate everything about your future, but when you meet the right person, your future will give you insight to where it’s really going. Stop ending things because it wasn’t what you previously pictured… you’re going to love where it ends up going. Yeah there will be things different then what you planned, some you’re not thrilled about, but overall it’ll lead you down the right path. And even if the path ends with that person, know what you’ve learned while on it will greatly extend the path for your next journey. Before this sounds like a Nicholas Sparks book… just remember to let things flow naturally and forever be growing.

Lastly, stop having sex with us so fast. Yes, I am a man and will soon be punched in the face for telling women to, “stop having sex with us so fast.” I say this hoping the girls I want to have sex with will never read this, but know it needs to be said for all my female friends who continue to ask me, “What went wrong?” Understand when I, speaking for all men, see a girl in whom I’m attracted to, my penis dances… no, sings. My penis sings a song so loud deaf ears duck for cover. For a fine chick, my dick is Celine Dion (Titanic style Celine Dion). Ever get a random ringing in your ears and wonder why it’s there? That’s my penis, and though he’s a little off key, he’s singing for you. And my penis sings so loud that on the night I first met you I didn’t hear a word you said. The second date, I might’ve caught your name and favorite ice cream. Third date I learned we both like the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and love dead baby jokes. Don’t get me wrong, the penis is still singing, I just happened to make a couple more things out. But as time goes on, the song goes from the opera at Lincoln Center to a hum at a Williamsburg dive bar. Why does it die down? Because now that I’ve gotten to know you, learning more about you greatly outweighs tapping that tush. Still want to tap it, but I sort of wouldn’t mind if you wanted to cuddle afterward (again, I’ll be punched in the face). The only thing that will ever make the music stop is changing the song from a solo to a duet with your very lovely vagina… they would sing so well together. But if we sing that song too early, I’ll probably thank you for the stage time and then go on a genitalia tour. If you had me honestly interested in you first, we’d be up all night, all the time, conducting an orchestra to a packed house of ‘OMG this is sooo amazing’. Be the conductor, not some cool chick I slept with, but really couldn’t hear her over the music.

That’s it. I spoke my mind on the day of overpriced roses and dust summoning stuffed animals. I let you into my thoughts while we ate chocolate and exchanged toe socks. No, the article doesn’t exactly work for everyone, as some people feel they are completely capable of being fulfilled by biking through Central Park, reading a brilliant book in the bath and planting a vegetable garden. As am I. But guess what? Lettuce isn’t going to love you back, that book is gonna’ end and best of luck trying to ride through the park in the winter. Loosen up and enjoy the day, however you choose to spend it.

Daniel Dickey

I just ran into one of those couples that someone who’s been in multiple relationships sees and wants to punch in the face. If you’ve been in a bunch of relationships, you know exactly who they are. If you haven’t been in a bunch of relationships, then you’re probably them. They’re the couple that has been dating for six months, never been in a real relationship before and thinks they’re going to spend they rest of their lives together because they’re hyped up about get consistent sex for the first time in forever and think their love will pay the bills because no ones ever experienced a feeling like the one they share. I’d punch them in the face, but can’t bear to be with touching distance to them. Their moronic, immature way of thinking makes me just stare at them wide-eyed, wondering how long it’s going to take them to look back at that moment and realize what an idiot they truly were.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been in that sorry state of mind, but I was in the 7th grade. Then again in 8th grade, 9th grade, 10th grade, 11th grade, etc. You date enough people in high school that by the time you hit college you start dating someone because they’re fun to be around and touch your penis on the reg, not because you want to spend your life with them eating flowers and baking heart shaped cakes (if you were a nerd in high school and bloomed in college this was your initial learning time). You date a bunch more people throughout college, so when you finally meet someone you really like, you’ve already learned what to do and what not to do with the bums in your past. You’re mature about your decisions and respecting each others feelings. You have realistic goals and are able to plan for a future, though you don’t speak about it until it’s appropriate. You’re not highly jealous, needy, or possessive, as you’ve already learned these were the wrong things to do in a relationship. You might get married and make her your baby momma or you might break up and use what you’ve learned to better your next relationship. The point is, you’re not a moron and make informed, calculated decisions that make sense to you and those around you. You’ve learnt something from all of your relationships and with each one have grown.

Then you run into that 23 year old couple that got drunk, slept together and brought up moving in together before they knew each others middle names. They’re so hyped up on this new feeling of ‘love’ that they spend every second with each other. They don’t realize someone who’s been in several prior relationships would never do this, because they learned early on that’s the quickest way to get burnt out. They have ‘talks’ about the future within months of dating. They’re convinced what they feel is different than everyone else in the world… ever. These are the types to really ‘peace out’ from their friends and devote all of they’re free time to each other. They’re both still insecure about they’re relationship and fight about the most minute things. They don’t have informed discussions after a fight, but instead have make up sex and lay in bed naming their future children and planing vacations when they have enough money saved up. They are dumb fucks.

I guess what I’m saying is, it’s direly important to date while you’re younger so you don’t suffer the relationship downfalls of a 7th grader when you 25 and have the ability to really make a fool out of yourself.

Side Note: Yes, you have a set of grandparents that were high school sweethearts and have been together for 60 years, and that makes sense, because in their day if the woman tried to get a divorce the man would beat her with his belt and/or throw acid in her face if they’re from the middle east. But asides from the 1% that DOES NOT happen anymore. DOES NOT HAPPEN. You’re not the 1% so don’t try to tell yourself otherwise.

So I’m only a couple weeks away from my one year anniversary and I’m pretty excited. For those of you who read that and thought, “Wait, what? Since when are you dating someone?” I’m not… it’s my one year break up anniversary. Yep it’s already been a year (if you weren’t a reader of my blog during that period, also know as ‘The Dark Ages’, then feel free to read the magina love rants here).

But back to what’s important… it’s my one year break up anniversary and I plan to celebrate! How? Maybe this email written to my ex girlfriend will help clarify it.

Yo Boo,

What’s up? Miss me (of course you do)? I just wanted to say I miss you as well and hope whomever it is you’re currently hooking up with has a bent penis and a hairy back. If I didn’t tell you then, that night I saw you on Bedford Ave your ass was looking mighty sexy (I guess it’s from all the rice and beans you’ve been eating in Washington Heights). Either way, I’m digging the curves on your fine frame and totally plan on hitting that next time you drunk dial me.

Speaking about drunk dialing, remember last month when I came over to drop off your sandals and instead I got your mouth pregnant… yeah that was fun. We should do it again soon… maybe even at our anniversary party?! What? Huh? Did he say party? Yep motherfucker! June 1st, 2010 is our one year anniversary and I think we should celebrate the shit out of it. But here’s the thing…

I think we should only invite the people we have hooked up with since we broke up. Of course it’s a little off beat, but still a fabulous (to say the least) idea. Think about how much fun it will be to sit around (drunk) listening to all the odd conversations that take place…

Possible Convo

• Girl: So how do you know Stephanie?
• Guy: We dated for a little… I met her on OkCupid. How do you know Danny?
• Girl: I gave him head on a roller coaster.

Another Possible Convo

• Guy: (sounding like a cocky prick) So you’re Danny?
• Me: So you’re the rich guy Stephanie stopped talking to because your dick looked like a toothbrush (I smile and blow him a kiss as he bows his head and leaves the party).

Um yeah, invite that short million who tried banging you in his penthouse, invite that Asian guy you made out with in Maryland, even invite all those dumbfuck guys you dated from wall street, and well, I’ll invite all the girls I’ve written about on my blog… even the fat ones… even the blind one(s). We can do it at your place or mine, it doesn’t matter to me. Let me know what you think.

I Love You Very Much,

Danny

PS: I got really drunk last night and texted your dad saying how I wanted to smear jelly on his face and lick it off… I meant to send it to my dad. Sorry.

Side Note: Stephanie is a wonderful young woman with big dreams and bright future. If we were to actually have an anniversary party there wouldn’t be too many men there (asides from the ones I’ve blown) as Steph has a high level of self respect and knows she’s much too amazing to settle for anything/anyone less than her standards of perfect. Also, very important, the curves caused from the Washington Heights rice and beans are the ideal kind (think Jessica Simpson, not Kristy Alley). She’s a pretty little thang and I’ll consider getting her pregnant next time we fool around.

So I watched Serendipity yesterday. If you haven’t seen this movie then you obviously have no idea what true love is (my true love = baked goods). It has everything an ideally amazing love story needs, a pretty British girl, witty writing, and the always amazing holiday season. It is one of the movies that you only let yourself watch once every couple of years, in hopes of recapturing the magic that you experience the first time you saw it. Thankfully as I laid in my bed eating cheese ravioli, fish sticks, and lighting vanilla candles I was able to recapture the magic that is Serendipity…so much in fact, that I decided I was going to find that same kind of love before the year is up.

First I went to Bloomingdale’s on 58th street and stood by the Cashmere gloves waiting for a gorgeous woman to grab a pair so I could grab it at the exact same time. This didn’t work so well, as there were plenty of gloves in stock and every time I grabbed the same pair as a beautiful woman and said, “oh man look at that, we grabbed the same pair…I guess it’s fate. Maybe we should both take one of the gloves and get married next year?” They just pushed me out of the way and grabbed another pair. I was asked to leave the store after 40 minutes.

I then walked over to the actual Serendipity ice cream store on 60th and waited for fate and destiny to take its course. Turns out I was destined to show up while it was packed and forced to drink my vanilla milkshake standing by the door. It was 25 degrees last night and I think I caught pneumonia waiting for true love. After three hours I didn’t speak to anyone except a female janitor that told me when she was born she had three feet. I left soon after my conversation with her.

Lastly I decided to look in the front cover of books at every bookstore in the city, hoping to find a name and number to the girl of my dreams. I decided to go with the original Harry Potter book, as he is British and I was hoping for a little Brit. The first 23 books stores all had the book, but none had any names, numbers, or facebook accounts in the front cover. At the 24th everything changed. I opened up the book expecting another blank page, but when I saw a name and number my heart did a somersault in my chest.

It read “Kevin. 212-323-6341. Call when you’re ready” now of course this was tricky, because Kevin is one of those names that can be either a guy or girl. But then it did say “call when you’re ready”…ready for love? Ready for a sexy British girl to sit under my Jewish Christmas tree naked? Yes. Yes I was very ready.

Turns out Kevin was actually a man and he meant ‘call when you’re ready’ as in, ‘call when you’re ready to get your ass kicked in a game of magic and dragons’. And though I fucked him after the game, I was disappointed that he wasn’t a she, and that she wasn’t the girl of my dreams. I’m going to keep looking though. Tonight as I start eating, drinking, and stumbling around Brooklyn and lower Manhattan I will be searching…searching for Serendipity (an unexpected and fortunate discovery). Wish me luck!

Getting ready for a wonderful night with both of my girlfriends (Jt and Tara),

Daniel Dickey

Those of you that have been reading my blog for a while now remember the ‘dark ages’ where I wrote a lot of mangina blogs about my girlfriend leaving me because I didn’t massage her feet enough (If you haven’t check out the Love & Relationships category). Well you can rest assured I will probably never write about being a such a little octaPUS even again….but I did just run into my ex at my subway station and do plan on talking about it in 4…3….2….1….

When you go through a break up your first thoughts are usually,

“Wow my life sucks. I’m ugly and I smell like poop”

“If she/he dates someone else I think I’m going to pour acid in my eyes”

“Maybe if I just sleep for the next six months everything will be ok”

I’m much too concerned with personal hygiene to smell like poop and am scared to put my contacts in my eyes, let alone acid. So I was most concerned with sleeping. I bought a very comfortable pillow and a new goose down blanket and slept until I didn’t pee on myself when I thought about my ex. After a good amount of months my balls dropped and I was able to untag myself from ‘most’ of the picture of us on facebook(I kept myself tagged in the ones I look good…that way that little fucker remembers how handsome I am).

With time you heal, but you always wonder what it’s going to be like when you see them. I don’t care who/what/where you are, after you have gotten over the break up, enough to accomplish normal daily activities, all you think about is the next time you’re gonna see them. You imagine what it is gonna be like seeing them. Where will it be? At a park? At a ping pong tournament? At a midget pool party? I personally always saw it happening at a midget pool party…a boy can dream. In truth, this always how I pictured it happening…

(I walk out of a exclusive little cafe on the upper west side. I’m in great shape, just got a hair cut, and wearing my finest threads. My date for the night, a olive skinned model type, is holding onto my arm. I just said something witty and she is laughing loudly as she kisses my neck. It’s cold outside and she pulls me in closer while starring at me dreamy eyed. I’m just chillen. Then out of no where I see my ex walking out of the cafe next door to this one. That cafe is old and offers discount coffee to people without legs. She tries her best to look pretty, but her date, a short balding European man with orange diesel shoes, makes her look like shit. He’s rich, but money ain’t as funny as me. She sees me and quickly begins looking at my lovestruck date. We are walking towards each other. Our dates are oblivious to whats happening right now. 15 feet…10 feet…5 feet…I say something really witty again, my date laughs louder than before.)

Me: Is that? Stephanie, is that you?

My Ex Girlfriend: Yeah, I-

Me: I almost didn’t see you. I was too busy shielding my eyes from those bright shoes that short, old man you’re with is wearing (the dumb European doesn’t get my funny American banter).

My Ex Girlfriend: Danny, this is Joseph.

Me: Oh that’s cool. This little beauty is Esmeralda…you might have seen her before?

My Ex Girlfriend: Do you work at H&M?

Esmeralda: (shyly giggling) No, but I’m their new model for the fall line.

My Ex Girlfriend: Oh

Me: Fucking yeah. She made so much money off that gig that she’s taking me to Paris.

Esmeralda: Yeah, it’s going to be so beautiful. Have you ever been to Paris?

My Ex Girlfriend: No, but Joseph is from Germany (Joseph is swatting a fly that keeps landing on his face).

Me: No Germany for us. Just Paris. Yep. Were going to Paris…probably gonna spend most of the time hanging out on the Eiffel Tower. Probably gonna fuck up on the Eiffel Tower…like every night. I’ll probably gonna propose up there (both girl’s face light up. This is what I’ve been waiting for).

My Ex Girlfriend: Huh?

Ezmeralda: Huh?! (I get down on one knee and pull a huge diamond ring out of my pocket) Oh my God!

My Ex Girlfriend: Oh my God!

Joseph: (the fly flys into Joseph’s mouth and he begin choking) Oh my God! (he collapses).

Me: Will you marry me?

Esmeralda: YES! OH MY GOD, YES! (We kiss and she hugs me knowing our lives are going to be wonderful together. We kiss again. Holding hands we begin to walk away. After a couple steps I turn back around to face my Ex).

Me: Hey it was nice seeing you again (she is in awe. I casually point at Joseph lying dead on the road) Good luck with him…he seems like a really great guy (I am the king…the fucking king).

Wanna know what really happened today?

(I walk off the smelly subway car and towards the exit. I just got out of the gym. My hair is fro’d and nappy. I haven’t shaved in a couple days. I’m wearing the same dirty, paint covered sweat shirt and gym shorts I wore while I was dating my ex. I look very homeless. I see my ex walking down the stairs with some tall guy. She sees me and tries to play it off like she didn’t…but I know this little thing better than anyone. She saw me and is freaking out. I saw her and am vomiting in my mouth. She lives on the Upper West Side, what the hell is she doing in Bushwick? Really, out of all places…this is how it’s going down? First thing I think, “WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T I GEL MY HAIR!” I quickly try to take my sweat shirt off so this guy realizes my arms are bigger than his and I can snap his neck…too late, they have just swiped their cards. Should I pretend to faint? We just made eye contact. AHHHHHHH

Me: Well look at this?

My Ex Girlfriend: Hey (the tall guy just chills with his perfectly combed hair).

Me: This is…um.

My Ex Girlfriend: Yeah, we were just talking about you. (what the fuck were they talking about me for?)

Me: Yeah, this is my hood.

My Ex Girlfriend: Yeah I know. (I look at the guy giving my ex a look like, “lets go”)

Me: Hey, what’s up guy? (he nods his head)

My Ex Girlfriend: (she quickly throws in) Yeah we were just rehearsing a scene. (My mind is blank. I’m trying to figure out if it’s early enough for her to be leaving his house from the night before. A scene? I met her while doing ‘a scene’. She speaks up again). This is so random.

Me: Yeah, you know what they say, New York City…the smallest place in the world (who says this? I’ve never heard anyone say this. Why did I say this?)

My Ex Girlfriend: Yeah.

Me: Yeah. (a brief pause) Ok good seeing you.

My Ex Girlfriend: You too.

WHERE THE FUCK WAS MY HOT MODEL FIANCEE? Where was the fat balding guy? Where was the fly that should have been eating this guys face? Why didn’t she bump into me last night as I came home drunk with my hair gelled and a perfectly picked out fall outfit on? Why didn’t she bump into me when I was going to work, dressed in Baby Gap’s finest? Ahhhhhhhh IDK.

I’m going on a day date with someone I met on a dating site(I’ll tell you all about it later)…then doing some stand up int he city tonight…holler.

Riding the train on the Upper West Side looking handsome as shit…hoping to bump into the ex, again,

Daniel Dickey

I’ve written a blog about this several times, but have deleted all of them before they were published.

A week ago I was hesitantly informed that a very close and mutual friend of my exgirlfriend and I, drunkenly informed her of his undeniable, irresistible, and extremely creepy love for her . Story is, after a slobbery confession of passion, devotion, and twisted sexual fantasies, he abruptly went in for a kiss. She was shocked and pulled away (at least that’s what I was told).

Now here lies the issue. I could careless who she decides to get involved with, as chances are I have a much bigger penis and a very promising future, but if one of my previously close friends decides hes loved her since he met her and wants to spend his life with her, that does bother me…just a little bit.

If you have loved her since you met her, and met her while we were dating, then you obviously fancied her despite our friendship and I can’t help but wonder…all those times we went out to the Ale House and I would squeeze her boob and bark like a dog, did you wish it was you? Did you wish you were cupping her breast and licking her ears? Or the night we were all out drinking at Tijuana Taxi and I told you about the time my ex peed all over me in the shower. Did you secretly wish she peed all over you? Or remember when you were in a play together and after rehearsals you would go out together, because we were all FRIENDS, did you sometimes imagine that you were on a date, together, alone? What about when we broke up and me and you had those long conversations about relationships. Do you remember your advice to me? It was something along the lines of, “Danny you have to forget about her and just move on”. Good advice… good advice if you’re trying to finger her.

There are a couple options to deal with a situation like this…

• A: Put a curse on you.
• B: Draw pictures of you getting fucked by a Sheep and post them on facebook.
• C: Send your name and contact info to Dateline: How to catch a predator.
• D: Shoot you in the face with a crossbow.
• E: Not give a fuck.

Though my first four options would be much more fun, I will go with E. Why? Because what you did was pretty wak (I’ve been brushing up on my ethic terminology) and in my new found adulthood I don’t care to dwell on it. I have blogged about it and now it is off my mind. I can only hope in your near future you will find the desire to eat a whale’s ass and get raped by a pack of vicious wolves.

Buying a book of spells,

Daniel Dickey

So I’m drunk…surprise surprise. Last night I came home to boxes and bags packed to the brim with all of my ex girlfriend’s belongings. I laid in bed for hours. She didn’t come home. I left at 8 in the morning to MC a wedding (Let me tell you how happy I was for them). I got home around 7pm…everything was gone.

It’s funny, I remember how I used to complain that the full size Ikea mattress Stephanie and I would share was much to small for two people. Well I’ll tell you what, last night as I slept in it alone, staring at my half empty closet, I began to realize that without her laying next to me there was much to much room for me to be comfortable. I remember when we first talked about moving to New York together, I was so excited thinking that every night I came home she would be there. I couldn’t wait to wake up next to her everyday. I imagined making her waffles naked while she danced around the house singing Matt Costa songs. I wanted to smell her morning breath and gag at her farts. I wanted to pick out furniture and fight about the color of our sheets. I wanted to be there while she did her hair for our dates and I couldn’t wait till I took off whatever it was she was wearing after we got back. I know everything about her. I know what she dreams of, I know what her deepest secrets are, I know what makes her smile, I know how her heart beats….and she’s no longer in my life.

Five people live in my apartment…excuse me, Stephanie left. Four people live in my apartment and not one of them are here right now. It’s raining and the sky is as grey as could be. It’s completely silent and I’ve been back and forth between crying and laughing. I laugh because I’m thinking of all the great times we shared together. I cry because I never thought they would end. I remember telling one of my roommates that my goals and future was the most important things to me, and no matter what a relationship could only be just as important until I reached and fulfilled them. Well after sitting in a lonely apartment without experiencing the love you desire from another my goals could choke on a cow’s dick, cause all I want is Stephanie back in my life.

I’m going out. Not sure where. Like I am now, I’ll be listening to Brett Dennen in my iPod if you want to join me.

Finding myself,

Daniel Dickey

So I bought a diary… well, not really. I took the black and white composition book that I used to write movie ideas and rap lyrics in and wrote diary on the front with a pink sharpie. I’ve been carry it around with me and have made a conscience effort to write in it. First I was just doing a lot of descriptive writing about the comatose bums on the L train… then I made the deep dive into my relationship.

I’ve noticed how everything and anything reminds me of my relationship and I’m completely convinced that any song John Mayer and Michael Buble’ have sang was written entirely about Stephanie and I’s relationship. I was taking the Long Island Railroad to MC a party on Wednesday, while writing in my diary I noticed a big breasted woman lifting up her shirt, letting her firm breast flop out onto her stomach. What was going on? Was this train taking me to heaven? I was staring right at her healthy brown nipples when she grabbed her baby and began breast feeding. Even though her nipples were now covered by her babies bald head, I was ecstatic… I just saw a perfect set of tits. Everything was great… until I remembered the time I told Stephanie I’d take her out to a really nice dinner if she let me try to suck her nipples for milk (Nothing came out, but the tip of her nipples turned blue and stayed like that for three weeks). BOOM I was crying.

Last night we had some people over the house. We all planned to drink wine and play Nintendo, and that’s just what I did until one of my friends threw a rubber chicken at me. How funny I thought! I smiled at the memory of me pushing some kid down the stairs at a Bar Mitzvah and stealing the chicken as he laid in his pool of blood. I was playing with it as I made awful attempts at chicken like noises. Everything was all good… until I pressed the beak together and realized it looked just like Stephanie’s vagina. BOOM I was crying (Her vagina was like a second home to me and the only home to my penis… though he frequently visited our timeshare in her mouth).

After spending two and a half years with someone, they’re everywhere. Whether it’s in music, movies, or a rubber chicken beak, I can’t escape my relationship. Maybe it’s because I’m not yet ready to forget my relationship. Maybe it’s because I still deeply care for her and am holding out for any possible hope that we might have a chance at getting back together….maybe not. Until I figure it out I’ll stay away from rubber chickens and sharp objects.

Breast feeding a Ken doll,

Daniel Dickey

Just hit the two and a half week mark. I haven’t thought about tying weights to my feet and jumping off the Brooklyn bridge in at least three days (Well I thought about it once this morning during breakfast, but that was because Stephanie and I used to share eggs. We now buy our own eggs. I liked sharing eggs). Being me I’m always trying to find the best in every situation, and I’m now strongly considering writing a book called, Breaking Up Sucks. At first it was going to be a children’s book called, Hey Kids Don’t Ever Get In A Relationship Because Girls Are Liars And Will Eat Your Heart, Fuck Your Best Friend, And Take Up The Whole Bed. I decided against that. I didn’t think young children would be able to grasp the concept that relationships make your stomach turn and dick limp. But they’ll learn one day.

Cooking my eggs,

Daniel Dickey